Kingdom of the Cursed

by Kerri Maniscalco

  If he was trying to distract me with that summoning Mark again, it wasn’t working. Each time he’d touched it before, it doused any elevated emotions. I wouldn’t allow it to distract either of us now. The part of me that had just awoken didn’t want to drift off and slumber again.

  My hands dipped below the water and I slowly dragged them back up his legs before sliding them away again.

  He cursed under his breath and I grinned. “No more talking, remember?”

  “Keep doing that, and I’m going to damn all the deities.”

  I drew small circles on his thigh, moving them higher and higher until his full attention zeroed in on precisely where he wished I’d explore next. Let him have a taste of how wild he’d driven me at dinner. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? Wanting something so badly only to be teased when it’s finally within reach.”

  Apparently, he received my message loud and clear. His hand slid between my legs and he touched his tongue to mine the precise moment he stroked against that aching part of me. I gasped into his mouth, but it was cut off as he drew me tighter to him. His arousal pressed against my body. Hard and enticing. Just like him.

  “Is this better, my lady?”

  Oh, goddess, yes. Much better.

  He slowly circled that wicked finger around my apex, all the while kissing me senseless. Heat exploded in my veins with each taunting stroke. I’d made a few poor choices in my life, but taking Wrath as a lover would not be one of them. He’d be just as unrestrained as I’d imagined, and that primal part of me welcomed this new battle of wills.

  I lifted my hips, urging him to continue his exploration as I wound my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. His finger partially plunged inside and I bit down on a moan. He withdrew it, his focus entirely on my body’s reaction to the motion; the slight, shuddering exhalation, the way I reflexively moved against him, and held on tighter. He was learning what gave me the most pleasure, varying it a little and repeating it.

  Goddess help me. The demon of war was a strategist on all levels.

  He gently rubbed against that throbbing part of me with a second finger before turning his attention back to his slow, drugging kisses. Fire. Through no magic except for the exquisite power of his touch, he was turning my body into a million tiny flames of desire.

  And he knew it. All of the teasing was driving me wild.

  “Will you take me to your bedchamber?” My voice was like smoke. “Now.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” More than anything. I managed to nod and his clever fingers rewarded me with another loving stroke. “Hurry.”

  He nipped at my lower lip. “Does my queen command it?”

  “Yes.” Oh, goddess yes.

  “Am I your humble servant now?”

  I drew back. There was a devilish glint in his eyes. Even if I wanted to answer, my response was obliterated with his next kiss. We both knew he was not the kind to be ordered around. So he didn’t rush. The Wicked creature took his time kissing me, all the while his fingers kept exploring, teasing, wringing pleasure in ways I didn’t know were possible.

  He’d promised I would not mistake reality with an illusion when he touched me. He hadn’t been lying. The Sin Corridor, this realm, nothing could compare to the magic of him.

  The next time he touched me, I involuntarily rocked my hips forward and he finally answered my silent plea. His fingers slid all the way in, and he gently bit down on my lip to quiet my gasp. Which only succeeded in driving me wilder.

  “Take your pleasure, my lady.” I tentatively repeated the rocking motion. He watched me, his gaze burning. “Just like that.”

  He captured my moan with his next kiss and I buried my hands in his hair, needing to feel more of him. Somehow I’d leapt up and wrapped my legs around his hips. His free arm easily secured me in place. The sensation of the warm bubbling water and the friction of his calloused fingers was enough to drive me over the edge with raw need. Instinct took over.

  Our bodies pressed together, our tongues and teeth and mutual hunger pumping through my veins. I realized the magic of the world wasn’t creating this longing; it was enhancing what I already felt. And I felt more than I’d ever allowed myself to admit. I rolled my hips in time with each of his deep strokes. No longer timid in chasing the pleasure he was giving me.

  In my fervor to experience all sensations, I slid down his body, accidentally brushing against his hardness. He moaned, the sound deep and rumbling. My grin was pure wicked delight. I repeated the motion and air hissed through his teeth. His kisses turned ravenous.

  I steadily rocked up and down on his hand, against him. Heat was building to a crescendo within me, searching for release. His eyes were glazed from his own mounting lust, his fingers still buried inside me. I’d never seen him look out of control before. It only added to my pleasure.

  “Emilia—” I silenced him with a kiss. Forget his room. I’d take him here. Now. My hand closed around his arousal and he groaned. “Demon blood, I need to—”

  “Take me to bed. Now.”

  The prince of Wrath, who would not be commanded by anyone, submitted to my order.

  Without any more taunting or teasing, he magicked us, bodies half-tangled together, to his bedchamber.

  TWELVE

  Wrath’s fingers were still buried between my legs as he leaned us up against the door of his chamber, his breathing coming hard and fast. He’d missed the bedroom. With good reason. My hand remained wrapped around his impressive length. I kept caressing his silky-smooth skin, marveling at the way each stroke had him coming further undone.

  It felt a little wrong to feel prideful at the moment, but I certainly adored the fact I was the reason the tight leash he kept on himself had finally snapped.

  There was no other reason I could imagine he’d transport us into the public corridor connecting our suites. At least the gate closing off this wing was still down, and no one could travel near enough to see us. Nor would they glimpse much of me with Wrath’s massive body covering mine. Not that it mattered if they could see me.

  I was too lost to the waves of pleasure building and cresting inside me to care where we were, or who was around. I wanted him right here. To hell with the whole Seven Circles. I was not married to Pride yet. Aside from his brief possession of Antonio, I’d never even met him. I doubted the devil would mind my taking a lover before our wicked vows were exchanged.

  Ours was certainly not a love match. And if Pride did care, he certainly didn’t show it. There was still no letter, no invitation, nor acknowledgment of my arrival. The Prince of Pride was content in his castle alone, and, at the moment, that was more than all right with me.

  Wrath kept kissing me, kept pumping those fingers while rocking against my unwavering grip on him, and I wanted nothing more than to bring this mighty creature to his knees with unrelenting ecstasy. This untethered, wild part of him was almost as intoxicating as his touch.

  I’d never experienced something like this, so powerful and right. He was right. And I knew, with unending certainty, we were on the precipice of discovering how good we were together. Maybe we were always meant to end up here, lost in each other’s passion.

  The sound of his pleasure mingling with mine was creating its own spell, and I was so close to shattering, so close to that power that was building and breaking and…

  Pain erupted in violent torrents, stealing my breath. Ever in tune with my emotional shifts, Wrath stopped instantly, the euphoric spell broken. “Are you all right?”

  “No.” I’d never hated a word more. “There’s a horrible p-pain.”

  “Where?” His voice was rough, thick.

  “My heart.” I let go of him and winced. “Blood and bones. It’s bad.”

  “Come. I’ll send for a healer at—”

  “I think it’s from the Horn of Hades.”

  Wrath had been reaching for the handle to his room but dropped his hand. His attention shot to the amulet I stil
l wore and he cursed the goddesses impressively.

  Everything disintegrated into smoke and glittering black light. I hadn’t seen him move, but one moment we were naked outside his bedchamber on the verge of mutual release, and the next we stood, partially dressed, before a scarred wooden door in a tower.

  Medieval-looking torches burned brightly on either side of it. I was almost as shocked by our location as I was about the ebony nightgown I now wore. The one that still did little to hide my form. Wrath had on black trousers and nothing else. Except maybe a slight look of concern.

  “Where are we?” I reached up to unhook the cornicello. The pain was intensifying.

  “Don’t remove that.” It was as if the last few minutes of passion hadn’t existed. Wrath was all granite edges and fury again. Except it wasn’t directed toward me. He brought his fist to the wood and pounded hard enough to rattle the iron hinges, his voice pure steel. “Matron!”

  The next wave of pain made my knees buckle, but I refused to let it pull me under. Even without looking at me, the demon prince missed nothing. His next knock shook a stone loose. I laid a hand on his arm and gently squeezed. “Wrath.”

  “If you do not open this door, I vow on my blood—”

  “You’re about to bring the whole tower down with that nonsense, boy.” The door swung open, revealing an older woman with long silver and lavender hair. She wore a deep purple robe with a ropelike belt that reminded me of images of priestesses I’d seen in paintings and books.

  Her dark gaze turned to me, assessing.

  “Daughter of the Moon, welcome. I am Celestia, the Matron of Curses and Poisons. And I’ve been expecting you.” She stood back and pulled the door wider in welcome. “Come in before his majesty breaks the realm.”

  “Next time answer your door faster.”

  Wrath stalked into the chamber first, alert and ready for battle. Aside from tinctures, antidotes, and poisons, I wasn’t sure what enemy he expected to find here, but I was in too much pain to worry. I followed him inside and paused. The circular room was composed of dark wood, cool stone, and shelves that climbed all the way up the tower. A ladder leaned against one section as if the matron had been cataloging items on the highest shelves when interrupted. An eclectic mixture of scents wafted around, mingling into something enjoyable.

  I could scarcely take a deep breath and the scent, appealing as it was, was beginning to turn my stomach. Sweat beaded my brow as I forced air in and out through clenched teeth. To avoid focusing on the growing nausea, I let my gaze drift around the space.

  On a long table near a lone arched window were several vials of strange liquids: some smoking, some bubbling, others tapping against the thin glass as if testing an escape route. Sentient liquid was something new to me and more than a little unnerving.

  One shelf had full-grown plants and seedlings and dried petals and herbs. There were poultices and charms, cauldrons, carved figurines of creatures like chimeras and winged deities and gods. Stones, both rough and smooth, and—if the dark sap was any indication—poison-tipped blades and needles glinting in the flickering firelight.

  Fat candles dripped wax onto a wooden mantel above a generous fireplace near the center of the room, and incense sticks burned in neat plumes.

  It seemed as if the Matron of Curses and Poisons was stocked for any devious pursuit.

  I swallowed hard as the next wave of pain lashed through me. It felt as if my body was suddenly in the midst of a brutal war with itself. Whatever was causing the pain was winning.

  With a strong hand on my back, Wrath guided me to a little wooden stool and turned on the matron. “Do something. Now.”

  She clucked her tongue as she slowly crossed the room. “Demands and threats belong to the scared and weak. Neither trait suits you, so hush.”

  “Don’t test me.”

  Celestia went to a container filled with scissors and shears. Some had gold or silver handles, others were made of gleaming gemstones or dull bones from mortals or creatures from the underworld. I didn’t look too closely.

  Wrath, however, loomed over her supplies. “Move faster.”

  “I don’t interfere in your work, boy, don’t intrude on mine. Now stop hovering and sit, or get out and work that anger off elsewhere.” Her cold gaze turned to his. “Do it for her sake, not mine.”

  Wrath didn’t leave, or sit, or comment further, but he did give the matron space to work. I decided I liked this fearless woman and wondered who she was to Wrath. Surely she had to know he’d just cut out a tongue. At the moment, the demon prince was especially ferocious, and she paid him no mind. I doubted very many were brave enough to turn their back on him, especially while his power was striking around like an angry viper the way it currently was.

  I wasn’t complaining, though. In his own boorish way, he was watching out for me.

  She picked up a pair of slim gold scissors with handles shaped like bird wings, then took a pitcher full of sparkling cerulean liquid, a vial of dried herbs, and chose another jar filled with petals in shades of frosty blue and silver. She brought everything over to her worktable, pulled a wooden bowl from a cabinet followed by a mortar and pestle.

  After looking everything over one last time, she turned those ancient eyes on me. “I must take a lock of your hair for the tincture.”

  “No.” Panic overtook me, and the word was out of my mouth before I realized I’d given a fear away to a stranger. Nonna’s warnings rang in my ears. We were always told to burn our hair and nail clippings, rather than allow anyone an opportunity to use the dark arts on us. “Is it necessary? The pain is already ebbing. I think his highness might have overreacted.”

  Her gaze softened. “You have nothing to fear from me, child. You will drink the tincture in its entirety. Then we’ll burn the bowl. Nothing will remain for those who wish you harm.”

  I felt Wrath’s attention on me like two hot pokers at the base of my neck but refused to look to him. This was my decision and mine alone. I took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

  Celestia clipped a small portion of my hair, sprinkled it over one part herbs and two part petals. She mashed everything together with the mortar and pestle until it formed a powder.

  Once the consistency was to her liking, she whispered a charm in a tongue I didn’t know, then added a few splashes of the sparkling blue liquid to the mixture.

  She poured everything into a silver chalice etched with runes and stirred vigorously. “It won’t be the most pleasant drink, but the Tears of Saylonia will help with the taste.”

  “Tears of Saylonia?”

  “Some say she’s the goddess of grief and sorrow. But there’s more to her than that. The tears are gathered at a temple in the Shifting Isles.”

  “Where are they located? Here?”

  She slid her attention to the prince as she stirred the drink in the opposite direction, the contents splashing from the sudden shift. “It’s almost ready.”

  Wrath watched every step the matron made toward me with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. As if one wrong movement would signal the fight he’d been primed for.

  I ignored his odd behavior and returned my attention to the approaching woman. “I’ve worn the amulet for decades, and I’ve never experienced pain like that before.”

  “You visited the Crescent Shallows, did you not?”

  “Yes.” My hair was damp and there was little use in lying. “How could you tell?”

  “A good guess. Certain magic cannot enter those waters without grave consequences. Some say the water there once belonged to the goddesses and burns away that which doesn’t belong. Others believe the Feared seek to reclaim what was taken from them. And they do not care how they succeed in restoring their power, only that they do. Vengeance is a brutal pursuit.”

  “The Feared?” I searched my memory for any stories or legends from childhood, but the name was unfamiliar. “Is that what you call the goddesses, or the demon princes?”

  “Enough.” Wrath�
�s voice was quiet, but his tone brooked no room for argument. “Some would be wise to keep superstitions and old folktales to themselves.” He folded his arms against his chest, his expression hard. “Is her tincture finished?”

  I glanced down at the devil’s horn charm. Wrath had told me to leave it on. I gave him an accusing look. “You neglected to tell me about any of the dangers. Now you’re concerned?”

  Celestia narrowed her eyes, but didn’t speak for another few moments as she continued stirring the tincture. “If he knew the effect it would have on you, I doubt he would have taken you there. It’s his other secret you need to inquire about. He is fully aware of how that one affects you both. And yet he hasn’t uttered a single word. I wonder why that is? Perhaps we’ve finally found your Achilles’ heel, your majesty.”

  Wrath went preternaturally still. The temperature in the room plummeted enough for me to see my breath. Jars rattled as the shelves shook from the force of the power he was holding back, the temper he was battling. The matron had clearly struck her intended target.

  Intrigued even more by his response, I studied him closely. He was almost unrecognizable. There was no outward shift in his cold features, but I sensed the immense wave of magic he drew in like the tide.

  “Careful,” he warned. “You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

  “Bah.” She waved her hand at him, completely unconcerned with the growing hum of anger in the air. She handed me the chalice and motioned for me to drink.

  I raked my attention over Wrath, and whatever had ignited his namesake sin vanished when he met my worried stare. The temperature returned to normal. He nodded at the cup. “It’s all right. Drink.”

  I brought the concoction to my lips and halted. The smell was not even remotely pleasant. I steeled myself before the pain returned and downed it all in one gulp, ignoring the saccharine yet bitter herb taste. My symptoms vanished.

  “You’re all set, child.”

  I gave her the chalice back and watched as she tossed the wooden bowl into the flames. It burned to ash within mere seconds. “Should I take off the amulet now?”